


Jusqu'à la mort nous sépare

by whatchamajig



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amélie needs a hug, Angst, Drabble, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Not Beta Read, SAAAAADNESS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatchamajig/pseuds/whatchamajig
Summary: Talon may have locked away her memories, but that doesn't mean she can't get them back.





	

**Author's Note:**

> listen.
> 
> i have amélie feels, okay?
> 
> find me at whatchamajig.tumblr.com

This house is not her home, not any more. 

This house once belonged to Gérard and Amélie Lacroix, happy were they. She dares not speak their names aloud here for fear of rousing their ghosts, and she cannot face them just yet.

After she- After Gérard’s assassination and Amélie’s disappearance the senior members of Overwatch moved to make their home a memorial, a forever reminder of a great man, a great woman, and the tragedy that befell them. The house was not a particularly large one, large enough for annual parties with friends but not so large that maids were needed or someone could get lost. A wide open yard with a view of the ocean, a traditional kitchen and living room, two-and-a-half baths with one connected to the master bedroom, and a small room down the hall, never occupied by anything but thoughts of the future.

Widowmaker stands in the kitchen and takes it all in. She is thankful that no one labeled the kitchen like one would in a museum, that there are no postcards that exclaim that a particularly fine kitchen knife was one of Gérard’s favorite items in the house or one that explained Amélie’s love for old vinyl records and how she would dance through the house, laughing when her husband would join her. There is no need for these cards because even someone who did not know the Larcroixs could see the memories in this home.

Her heels echo through the house as she steps in the foyer, hands shoved into the pockets of the peacoat she wore when Talon permitted her to leave the base she was stationed at. They do not know she’s here, only two people do and they will take this trip to their graves; if they did she would be recalled immediately and be sent back to the room and lose herself once more. She makes her way upstairs, trailing her fingers along the bannister as she goes. For a moment she thinks she feels something as her fingers brush the areas that the Lacroixs most certainly touched. 

At the top of the stairs is a wall covered in pictures of Gérard and Amélie and their friends and coworkers. Each picture seems to be in chronological order, starting with what looks to be the couple at university and ending with a picture that was taken outside of the Comédie-Française, Amélie in her ballet outfit and Gérard wrapped around her, pride evident in his eyes. They age gracefully in each picture, Amélie slowly developing crow’s feet and age lines while Gérard’s hair goes from brown to pepper grey. Talon had caused the man as much stress as he caused them and Widowmaker will give him his persistence. She takes a moment to look them all over, committing each one to memory before moving on. 

Walking down the hall she doesn’t stop until she reaches the door to the master bedroom. She pauses in the doorway after opening the door, eyes sweeping over the room. This feels like an intrusion, one she is able to turn down; instead she steps inside and comes to a stop in the middle of the room. Compared to the bedroom all the rooms downstairs look fake, items covered in polish and maintenance kept up on. Slippers sit untouched by the edge of the bed and there’s still makeup on the vanity. The drawers of the dressers have been left open, no doubt rifled through as Overwatch and local authorities tried to find some information about what had gone wrong. The blankets on the bed look fine at first but a closer looks shows that moths had at one point set in on them, the pillows lumpy from being unfluffed. Widowmaker is sure it is her imagination but she thinks she can see blood on one of the pillows.

There’s a picture on the nightstand by the bed, turned just so that Widowmaker has to walk over to see it. She sits down on the bed before grabbing it off, wiping off the layer of dust that had settled in. It is a picture of Gérard and Amélie on what she can only assume is their wedding day. They are on the dance floor, the only ones she notes, and Amélie’s head is thrown back as she laughs at whatever joke her husband had just told her. In the background stands Morrison and Reyes, wide grins on their faces as the clap for their friends. Talon had taught her to read body language and facial recognition and as she stares at Gérard she can see nothing by joy and awe for his wife radiating from him. She reaches out and runs her fingers over his face.

“You loved him, you know.” A voice calls from behind her. Widowmaker does not turn to look at Reyes as he settles on the bed beside her out of respect for the man’s discomfort in his own appearance but she does turn her head slightly to acknowledge him.

“ _Non_. She loved him, not me.” A heavy sigh.

“Fine. She loved him, then.”

“Tell me about how they met.”

“It started like most young romances do: at college. He was a political science major with a minor in human relations. She was a ballet major who spent her free time at omnic rights rallies. They met while running from the local authorities, decided to meet again, and from there decided to spend a decade and a half with each other, planning for eternity.”

Widowmaker hums softly as she tilts the picture again and again, trying to see if a different angle will help her. Memories brush against her consciousness but they flee just before she can grab on, leaving her in a half state of remembering the woman so many people claim she is.

“Tell me about their love.”

“Gérard was madly in love. He thought Amélie was a gift from God. ‘She hangs the stars for me, Gabriel,’ he used to say when had had one too many drinks and were so sick of the paperwork that surrounded us, ‘I want to be a better person for her. I want to make the world a better place for her, and our children. I want to grow old and wrinkled and retire with her so that I can see her in the sun every morning when we wake up. I want to die before her so I never have to spend a day without her’.”

It is only Reyes’ reflexes that keep the picture from crashing to the floor and breaking. At some point she had thrown her hands over her mouth to muffle her sobs, closing her eyes as Gérard’s laughter fills her mind. An arm wraps around her shoulders and Widowmaker finds herself pulled against Reyes, his hand rubbing a comforting pattern into her back. 

“ _Continuez s'il vous plaît_.”

“I never thought two people could be so madly in love. My parents loved each other, but they married to support my siblings and I. Morrison’s parents were divorced before he was five and each year he got two Christmas cards, one from his mom, one from his dad. Everyone I knew seemed to treat love as if it could only be applied to the good times. But watching them… I felt like I had been sucked into a cheesy romance movie every time they stepped onto base. They showed me what unconditional love was, what it meant to look at someone, see their flaws, and still think ‘Yeah, they’re the one’.”

Widowmaker opens her eyes, not realizing she had close them to begin with. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a shadowy finger trace over Morrison’s face. She leans into Reyes, feels him sigh against her and tighten his grip in a half hug.

“If you could go back and change one thing, what would it be?” She asks quietly. 

“I would be the man they thought I was. I would be the loyal friend, the brilliant commander that they all thought I was, not the jealous child I became. I would apologize for every bitter word and and glare.”

“I would tell him that she loves him. Every minute of every day I would let him know how much she loves him, cares for him. I would make sure that there is never a shadow of a doubt in his mind when it comes to her love.” Reyes hands her back the picture, pushing her to put it back on the nightstand when she stares at it for a moment too long. Gently he helps her up as if she is a delicate being and not one of the world’s most feared assassins, waiting for her to move before he decides to to do anything. Vaguely she wonders what it’s like for him, seeing both the woman he’s known for years and the murderer she’s become. 

They walk to the front door, Reyes stepping out first and Widowmaker taking a moment to look around the house. There are so many memories here, memories that are her’s and yet no her’s at the same time; they come in tiny pieces and she files them away somewhere deep inside so Talon will not find them.

This house once belonged to Gérard and Amélie Lacroix, happy were they.

This house is not her home, not any more, but that does not mean she does not cherish it.

**Author's Note:**

> Continuez s'il vous plaît - continue please


End file.
